


almost (be still my foolish heart)

by figure8



Series: boy, we're gold [2]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 15:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: He’s even prettier up close than he was in the photos on his seeking.com profile. Mingyu’s kind of new at this, but even he knows it’s usually the other way around.





	almost (be still my foolish heart)

**Author's Note:**

> do not ask me what this is i have NEVER been horny 
> 
> more seriously.... ao3 user earthshaker thank you for letting me play in your sandbox i would D WORD for you. this fic _can_ stand alone but for the full experience please do check out the other works in the series!! 
> 
> title from almost (sweet music) by hozier

_I wouldn’t know where to start_  
_Sweet music playing in the dark_  
_Be still, my foolish heart  
Don't ruin this on me_

 

He’s even prettier up close than he was in the photos on his seeking.com profile. Mingyu’s kind of new at this, but even he knows it’s usually the other way around. June_96 is also taller than he expected, although still not as tall as Mingyu—but people rarely are. They’ve texted, before today. On and off. _Call me Jun,_ which Mingyu still can’t bring himself to, like the username has taken root in his brain. Maybe because once he stops being _June_96_ and becomes _Jun,_ then it’s real, then it’s concrete. Then Kim Mingyu _really_ is the kind of sad motherfucker who pays for company and a nice view.

But the thing is, the boy standing in front of him is real. He is so very very real, with his bright smile and his sharp cheekbones and his cat-like eyes artfully lined in glittery black. And Mingyu wants to touch him more than he wants to preserve his cool and composed image. Mingyu wants to touch him so much his palms are buzzing with it, need curling at the bottom of his stomach like a sleepy dragon.

“So,” Jun grins, dazing. It’s their first _date._ They’re getting to know each other, supposedly. Jun insisted on meeting at a bar first, just in case they didn’t hit it off in person. “Where are you taking me next, Mr. Kim?”

This question, he guesses, means Jun considers they hit it off just fine.

And it’s at the tip of Mingyu’s tongue, but he swallows it down forcefully. _Mr. Kim is my father._ He has repeated these words ad nauseum at work since he took over the company. He’s barely twenty-six, _Mr. Kim_ makes Mingyu feel like he signed away his life when his father retired.

But there’s something in Jun’s tone as he says it. There’s just _something,_ and Mingyu has always had a weakness for pretty boys, and so instead of correcting him he just hails a taxi and texts his assistant to make sure one of the private dining rooms at _The Diplomat_ is waiting for them.

In the car he watches Jun intently while they chat idly — and Jun is _good_ at that, making conversation. Good at feigning interest. Mingyu _knows_ he’s pretending, that’s what he’s here for, but his gaze is so intense it’s easy to forget. He nods at all the right moments, tilts his head to the side, mirroring Mingyu.

He’s a man with taste. His jeans are Armani — and not Emporio, but Giorgio. His moccasins are Gucci — Mingyu knows because he has the same pair in light brown. The dress shirt he doesn’t recognize, but it’s tailored, not fast fashion. _He’s done this before. Someone bought these for him._

He’s a dancer, he told Mingyu during their second iMessage conversation, a day after they first swapped numbers. In between projects right now, which is why he’s “back on Seeking”. He put himself through college like that.

Mingyu can see it, even in the most innocuous movement. Even the way Jun pushes himself out of the cab is graceful, measured. He tucks a lock of blond hair behind his ear and blinks up at Mingyu, demure, and that too is carefully measured. Desire floods across Mingyu’s body like sunlight — warm, steady, building up.

He observes Jun throughout their time at the restaurant. His table manners are impeccable, and he treats the wait staff with kindness, flashing their server genuine smiles, _thank you so much_ every time his glass of water gets refilled.

 _I could take him to functions,_ Mingyu thinks, and that is the first time he seriously considers going through with — all this. Considers what comes after.

He signed up on the website because Minghao told him so, although his best friend might have been joking. It’s hard to tell, sometimes. They had emptied two bottle of wine that evening, and Mingyu was whining about being lonely, his head pillowed on Minghao’s thighs, Minghao’s fingers tenderly carding through his hair, just like when they were kids. _You have a girlfriend,_ he remembers croaking miserably, _You don’t understand._ He’s been so busy lately, trying to acclimate himself to his new position, he can barely find the time to eat three meals a day, let alone text potential boyfriends back. Men in their social circle are needy, too. Think very highly of themselves, as rich people tend to do. Mingyu would know, he’s one of them.

“You should get a sugar baby,” Minghao had suggested, with the aplomb of someone with 0.19% alcohol in their veins. “You’re a CEO now, after all.”

So now Mingyu is sitting opposite the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life — and he works around models, for God’s sake — trying to figure out if he actually has the guts to go through with this. Take Jun home. _Keep_ him.

He doesn’t think it shows. He has learned how to internalize nervousness — had to, early on, before business school, before the galas. His mother taught him, with the softness of someone who’d had to learn as well. _It’s okay to feel it. You just cannot show it._ Sharks can smell blood from afar.

He does not want to think about his mom right now. The waiter just deposited a bowl of chocolate mousse in front of Jun and he’s making small content sounds around his spoon, eyes shut. It’s spectacle, of course. Being aware of it doesn’t make the sight any less enticing. God, Minghao was right. He really needs to get laid.

“This is delicious,” Jun smiles. He offers his spoon to Mingyu, like Mingyu doesn’t have an untouched _crème brûlée_ for himself. Mingyu leans across the table and accepts the bite dutifully. Jun looks like a happy feline.

“We’re taking these to go,” Mingyu points to their desserts, voice a little strangled, when a server passes them by.

 

: : :

 

Jun whistles when they pass the threshold of Mingyu’s apartment. There is something refreshing about how open he is about the fact he _definitely_ is here for Mingyu’s money. He joked about it at dinner, with the easiness of someone who already knows the deal is done. Mingyu knows that tone of voice, although he’s usually the one using it, when he’s signing a contract.

 _You’re easy on the eyes,_ Jun had chuckled. _That’s always a plus._

Mingyu isn’t _that_ terrible at dating, usually. It’s the guilt, maybe. The absurdity of the situation. _Sugar Daddies_ are balding men with beer bellies. Jun is _older_ than him by a year.

“You don’t have to offer me a drink,” Jun informs him.

Mingyu frowns. “Okay?”

“I mean,” he continues, inspecting Mingyu’s Steinway, his fingers aerial on the dark wood, “You can if you want. Do you play?”

“I used to,” Mingyu says. “Don’t really have the time anymore.”

“I do,” Jun says. “I could play you something.”

“Please,” Mingyu nods. Warmth diffuses through his abdomen like a bird spreading its wings. Jun sits behind the piano.

It’s Chopin. Opus 9, Number One. Two is the most famous _Nocturne,_ but One has always been Mingyu’s favorite. He prefers piano pieces in the minor key. Something about the melancholy of the languid notes just gets to him.

“You’re good,” he breathes out, mesmerized. Jun huffs.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I, ah. You’re just — you’re good.”

“Well, thank you.” He closes the cover carefully. “The thought of this poor piano being left to its own devices pained me.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. My best friend and his girlfriend are over a lot. You can’t unglue her from this damn piano. You’d think she doesn’t have one at home.”

Jun gets up from the small bench. He never really stops smiling. It’s distressing, because he has a blinding smile, and it makes Mingyu a little weak in the knee. It’s unfair, too, because he’s practically sure Jun is extremely aware of his own power and uses it for _evil._

He walks right into Mingyu’s personal space, invading it. On his tiptoes, one hand on Mingyu’s forearm, he brushes his lips to Mingyu’s.

Mingyu’s vision narrows to just this: Jun’s moon-like eyes, speckles of gold dusting the deep brown.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, daddy?”

Mingyu’s next exhale comes out shaky. Electricity travels up his spinal cord, desire lighting up like a Christmas tree.

He leans in.

 

: : :

 

The back of Mingyu’s knees hits the couch and he lets himself fall, tugs Jun along with him. Jun climbs over him eagerly, settles on his lap, Mingyu’s hands framing his thighs.

“I like that you’re bigger than me,” he whispers against Mingyu’s mouth in between kisses, burying his fingers in Mingyu’s hair.

“Not everywhere,” Mingyu protests weakly, because in this position he can definitely feel how hard Jun is in his jeans, and it’s. Well.

Jun has to stop kissing him because he’s laughing too hard. “Was that a dick joke?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. “I just want to be absolutely sure, because it could also be about my nose.”

“Don’t laugh,” Mingyu whines, but it’s contagious and now he’s chuckling too, face flushed.

“Aw, baby,” Jun grins, “It’s okay if you’re a size queen.” He slides his hand up Mingyu’s chest, under his shirt, palm scorching. “You can have anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“We’ve gone over hard limits already,” Jun says, like this is perfectly normal. Mingyu supposes it is, in a way. They’ve gone over other things, too. This is love in the digital age, _et cetera._ “So, yeah. How do you want me?”

Mingyu would be happy with just this. Jun’s pleasant weight above him, the slow grind of his hips, the faint trace of his cologne. “Can you just kiss me, for now?”

He regrets it the second it passes his lips. It sounds pathetic and inexperienced, which he _isn’t._

“Whatever you want, baby,” Jun repeats, the bridge of his nose dragging up the side of Mingyu’s neck. There’s an edge of surprise to his voice, but it is not disappointment.

Mingyu is a fast learner. This has always been his talent. He’s adaptable, and he’s quick on his feet. It applies here too, in a way. He explores what makes Jun moan, how to hold him, where to put his mouth. It takes roughly five minutes for Jun to be tugging at Mingyu’s shirt impatiently, and so the shirt goes. Jun seems extremely pleased with the newly revealed expanse of smooth skin. He kisses his way down Mingyu’s pectorals, humming contently; and Mingyu’s hand reflexively finds the back of his head, not exactly guiding but _there._ When Jun twirls his tongue around his nipple Mingyu lets out a breathy, needy sound.

Jun lets his right hand trail lower, until he’s palming Mingyu through his slacks.

“Can I suck you off?” he asks, awfully earnest, but also low, hot. Mingyu emits an unintelligible affirmative noise. “Been wanting to all night,” Jun continues, lips close to Mingyu’s ear, voice syrupy-sweet. “Thought about it at the restaurant, about just going under the table and letting you come in my mouth.”

It doesn’t matter that it’s most probably all lies. The words shoot straight to Mingyu’s dick anyway, and he tightens his grip in Jun’s hair, drags him back in for a deep kiss.

This one is different from their first. Not so sweet anymore, but wet and filthy, purposeful. Mingyu feels _hungry —_ a little feral, a little wild. They’re as close as can be like this but he wants them to be closer. When their mouths part he grunts mournfully at the loss, tries to keep Jun there.

Jun presses one last quick kiss to his cupid’s bow before sliding down between his legs. He makes quick work of Mingyu’s belt and zipper. On his knees, looking up, he’s the perfect image of what Mingyu pictured when he clicked on his profile — demure, _pretty._ Mingyu wants to defile him, and that’s not — that’s not a need he has, usually. He’s content being the one bossed around, normally.

He lifts his hips so that Jun can help him slide his pants off to his ankles, buzzing with anticipation. Jun licks his bottom lip absently and Mingyu’s gaze follow the movement intently, gut tightening like a fist ready for a fight.

His breath stutters as Jun presses his face to the crease of his thigh and breathes in. He’s already so hard and he hasn’t even really been touched yet.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jun tells him gently. “Your terms, remember? We can watch a movie. Have a nightcap. I can blow you on the bed —”  
“Here is fine,” Mingyu says, sounding strangled.

“Okay, then,” Jun smiles, and he wraps three fingers like a ring around the base of Mingyu’s cock and lowers his head to tongue at the tip. Mingyu bites the inside of his own cheek, hard. Jun licks a slow stripe up the underside, eyes still staring up. He runs his tongue around the head and over the slit, the wet movement making Mingyu’s balls draw up and his toes curl, pleasure shooting up his spine.

He trails his fingers through Jun’s hair, rests his hand on the back of Jun’s head — not holding, just _there._ He doesn’t trust himself. There is a part of him that just wants to _take,_ heady with lust. He lets Jun run the show, finally taking Mingyu fully in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around him. He’s good at this.

“You’re good at this,” Mingyu voices out loud, because why not. God knows _he_ enjoys being told.

Jun whines a little, and Mingyu nearly brains himself on the wall. He flattens his free hand against it, trying to keep himself from bucking up into Jun’s mouth. Jun looks up at him then, pupils wide and dark and surrounded by a bare rim of hazel, before pulling off with the filthiest _pop._

“You don’t have to be so polite about it,” he giggles. His lips are glistening. There is a string of saliva linking them to the tip of Mingyu’s dick. Jun tilts his head to the side. “You can fuck my mouth if you want.”

“I don’t —” Mingyu starts, but he stumbles on the end of his own sentence, brain hazy with need. He doesn’t have the words for this. Doesn’t know how to explain to Jun that in a tiny corner of his mind alarms are still blaring. “I want —”

“Daddy,” Jun pouts, the _terror._ “Please fuck my mouth.”

And ah, so this is how it is going to be, Mingyu realizes. Jun’s finger on the trigger, Mingyu’s caving will the bullet.

Roles reversed from earlier, he breathes out, “Whatever you want, baby.”

And this is what it boils down to, really. Jun calls the shots. It’s whatever _he_ wants, even when Mingyu has his cock down his throat. The two weeks of text messages, and this entire evening, dancing around each other, it all amounts to this. Mingyu sinks into the smooth velvety heat with a sigh and thinks, _fuck, he got me. He already knows which buttons to press._

 

: : :

 

Jun doesn’t stay the night. _Boundaries,_ he tells Mingyu, still smiling. _Let’s take this slow, yeah babe?_

Mingyu think it’s hilarious, considering where Jun’s mouth was barely ten minutes before that, but he nods, and offers to call him a car.

 

: : :

 

For their second date Mingyu takes him out for brunch. He watches Jun gorge himself on Champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries under the Californian sun, an earthquake brewing within him. Slow, subterranean want — yearning.

He thinks, _God, if we had met anywhere else, I would have made the time. I would have found a way._

Jun tells him about the new studio he’s practicing at, and Mingyu offers work updates in exchange. He thinks it’s boring, his side of things the blandest part of the fashion world, but Jun is either excellent at feigning interest or genuinely intrigued. It doesn’t exactly matter. It’s freeing, being able to let go a little, deposit some of that burden down. He can’t talk with his parents anymore, not since his dad retired, because Mingyu sees it on his face sometimes, that he misses the rhythm of it. And Minghao, Minghao used to be his confidant, and in many ways he still is; but Minghao is in love now, honeymoon phase, starstruck. He’s a good friend, and he listens, and he always carves out time for Mingyu no matter how heavy his schedule gets, but Mingyu knows he’d rather be with Seokmin, and it weighs on him through all their conversations.

So this, this morning with someone who is just Mingyu’s, it’s good. It’s like the breeze, the shade under the palm trees. Necessary, although Mingyu loves the Los Angeles heat.

That is, as long as he pushes away the reality that Jun is being paid to listen.

It’s weird. He’s had the reverse anxiety for most of his life. _Look out for gold diggers,_ his father had warned him when Mingyu was a teenager, and while he had found it distasteful, he had listened. Almost all his friendships, those that he didn’t forge at his expensive private school, where he met Minghao, were tainted by this ugly, dark question. _Would you be here for me? Just me? If it were just me, stripped down, penniless?_

With Jun he knows. And it’s better. And it’s worse.

He shakes his head, swallows down a long gulp of coffee, hoping to chase away the bitterness of his thoughts with some concrete, real bitterness. Jun steals a piece of waffle from his plate and smirks, makes a show of licking syrup off his fork. Mingyu knocks their knees together under the table.

After they’re done, on their way to the car, Jun bats his eyelashes at him, hanging from his arm, and says the magic word.

Mingyu cancels his next meeting and takes him to Dior.

 

: : :

 

It takes seven more dates for Mingyu to unlock the privilege of seeing Jun naked. In Mingyu’s bed, grasping at Mingyu’s satin bed sheets, he truly is the prettiest thing Mingyu has ever laid eyes upon. Kiss-bruised lips, tousled hair, he holds himself like an invitation. His voice is rough, entitled, demanding.

 _Here,_ Mingyu thinks, _at the center of your palm, this is where I live now._

He kneels carefully on the mattress between Jun’s spread legs, presses cautious kisses to the dark purple marks earned from hours and hours of practice on hardwood floor. Jun keens when Mingyu’s mouth reaches the inside of his thigh, teasing, light.

“Daddy,” he gasps when Mingyu pinches the fragile skin there between his teeth, “Daddy, please —”

The word _does_ something to him. They discussed it by text, before meeting, Jun asking him plainly, _what do you want me to call you?_ Mingyu had hesitated for so long Jun had just taken it upon himself to test out options. Mr. Kim. Sir. _Daddy._

He still doesn’t know what it is exactly about it, that activates something deep within. A forbidden hunger, a dizzying, terrible lust. It might be that he wants to give, wants to _care for._

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs into Jun’s skin. “Baby, baby, _sweetheart.”_

He kisses the tremor away, then lower, _lower._ Spreads him open, breath hot over his hole, the first curl of his tongue against the rim wet and sloppy and sinful. Jun’s moan comes out fractured, another plea. His cock is an angry aching red against his stomach, the tip glistening, pulsing with every ragged breath he takes.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop —”

Mingyu wants him to come like this. Wants to wring it out of him, messy and all-consuming. He pushes, strokes his tongue deeper, _deliberate._ Jun’s head lolls to the side, cheek pressed to the bed, knuckles white where he’s gripping the burgundy sheets.

“Mingyu,” he asks, and this is how Mingyu wanted him. All pretense dropped, raw. “Mingyu, please, fuck me, make me come.”

And he’s torn. _Whatever my baby needs,_ or teasing further. Pressing further. He slides a finger in, knows it’s not enough. Jun groans, frustrated.

Mingyu pulls away just enough to speak. “You’re going to come like this,” he decides. His voice is hoarse, affected. “And if you’re a good boy, after, when you’re all pliant and loose for me, then I’ll fuck you.”

“But _daddy_ ,” Jun starts, and Mingyu bites down on the smooth fragile skin at the junction of his thigh to silence him.

“Don’t play dirty, baby.”

He’s not a _monster._ He lets Jun tangle his fingers in his hair, bring him as close as humanly possible, basically ride his face.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and he doesn’t usually swear in bed. Satisfaction ripples through Mingyu’s body, magnetic field. “Oh my —  _fuck — Mingyu —_ ”

Mingyu knows he’s drooling at this point, chin shiny with spit, but he doesn’t care. He spears his tongue as deep as he can, and lets Jun take what he needs. He’s rewarded with the sweetest trickle of moans and curses, and then —

“Oh my god,” Jun cries out, breathless surprise coloring his voice. “Oh my god oh my god oh my _god_ I’m gonna —”

The rest of his sentence dies swallowed in an animalistic grunt as he comes, cock spurting against his stomach. Mingyu pulls off, panting, replaces his mouth with two fingers and fucks him through it. He’s flushed all over, eyes wild, _beautiful._

“Holy shit,” he gasps, breath coming out short and broken still. He’s squirming. Mingyu gently slides his fingers out. “Come kiss me,” he demands.

Mingyu grimaces, although the words tug at his heartstrings like it’s a harp. “You _know_ where my mouth has been.”

“I don’t care,” Jun shakes his head. “Come kiss me.”

He slithers up Jun’s body, kisses him close-mouthed. Jun rolls his eyes and pries his lips open to kiss him properly. It takes him a few seconds, in his post-orgasm daze, to notice Mingyu’s hard cock digging into his thigh.

“Daddy,” he grins, wrapping a firm hand around the throbbing length, “You said you were going to fuck me.”

“You don’t need to,” Mingyu splutters, Jun’s hand on him feeling _incredible,_ “I was just — saying things — you can get me off like this.”

“No,” Jun says, nosing at his jaw affectionately, still stroking him slowly. “You promised. Was I a good boy, daddy? Are you going to fuck me now?”

Mingyu thinks of the gold Gucci ring on Jun’s finger, the one Jun didn’t ask for, the one Mingyu saw him admire and bought after. It’s almost gaudy, obscenely expensive. Jun makes it work, somehow. It doesn’t mean anything — it’s decorative jewelry, just a fashion statement.

Something settled heavy as a stone in Mingyu’s gut the first time he saw Jun wearing it.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice rough. “Whatever my baby needs.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this [vague hand gesture] uh, thing, please dont hesitate to leave a comment <3 feedback fuels me and i really want to explore this particular relationship in further works T__T 
> 
> i’m always on [twitter](http://twitter.com/yifanapologist) if you want to drop by :D


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